


Home For The Holidays

by Britpacker



Series: Seasons Of Goodwill [8]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Family, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chicks may have flown the nest, but there’s one time of year they all come flying back – with extra mouths to feed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For The Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimers, etc, etc, etc!
> 
> This is the penultimate episode of my defiantly anti-canon Christmas saga. Happy holidays to one and all!

“Gandad!”

“Hello, darling.” With the lithe ease of a cadet Malcolm Reed stooped to sweep his squealing granddaughter up, spinning the dark-haired toddler around with her chocolate ponytail flying and her plump legs kicking out to imperil every observer of over five feet tall. “Trip! Get out of that blasted shed, everyone’s here; and _please_ remember to wash your hands! How are the allergy treatments working, Tina?”

“The doctors think they’ve figured the doses now, Dad.” Kristina Tucker released her grip on her firstborn’s hand, allowing the blond-haired boy to hurl himself at his grandfather’s kneecaps while Malcolm stretched to kiss his daughter-in-law’s cheek. “You’re looking well.”

“As well as can be expected, darling, with Pop around,” he said, raising his voice enough to be heard in beyond the open front door. The answer from within the large red-brick house was an inelegant snort promptly copied by the two smallest new arrivals.”

“Quin, Maddie, only grown-ups are allowed to be rude.” Charles Tucker the Fourth accepted his father’s outstretched hand as a lever to pull the older man into a bear-hug. “But Tina’s right, Dad – you do look great.”

“He always does.” Melissa Reed-Tucker brushed her big brother aside, grey-blue eyes sparkling as they met their mirror-image. “Happy holidays, Daddy.”

“And the same to you, Missa-Liss. I’m so sorry about…”

The end of his sentence was waved away with a perfectly-manicured hand. “Don’t be. I was the one who ended it. Paul and I weren’t meant to be.”

“And it only took you two years to figure that out? Malcolm, she’s as dumb as we used to be.”

“Speak for yourself, Mistah Tuckah.” The words were drilled with the fierce accuracy of a laser probe but won no more than a toss of the silver-and-gold head from a husband still drying both hands on his trouser legs. “Forgive me – you must be Sarah, of course. It’s so kind of you to spend Christmas with us. I hope James hasn’t bombarded you with horror stories about our cooking.”

“Like I’d dare.” With a small half-smile, James Reed guided his girlfriend forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. The heavy curtain of her glossy black hair swinging forward to shield her blush, Sarah Robertson allowed her hand to be vigorously shaken.

“Not at all, Admiral; and I’m very grateful to yourself and Admiral Tucker for inviting me,” she said, her British accent as flawlessly clipped as his. The taller of her hosts whistled.

“Jamie, you’ve got your Daddy’s looks and mah taste in accents!” he announced loudly. Malcolm fixed him with a look and he subsided, snickering.

“Please, dear, we refuse to be addressed as Starfleet officers in our own home,” he said, kindly patting her hand. “ _Especially_ as one of us is liable to disgrace the service every time he opens his mouth! Tina, you called us Trip and Malcolm until Charles did the sensible thing and proposed, I remember?”

“I tried.” Plump and petite, her emerald eyes dancing, Kristina Tucker accepted her other father-in-law’s hug calmly, not even squealing as she was hefted off her feet and swung as if she were her daughter’s size. “But bear in mind Sarah’s Starfleet; she’s used to ranks. I’m a civilian and even I found it hard not to salute every time I saw you the first couple of years.”

“’Ten- _shun!_ ” Charles Tucker V, known throughout the family by a diminutive of Jonathan Archer’s nickname for him, _Quintus_ , snapped into a smart salute that broke the tension instantly. Even Sarah grinned, and both grandfathers jumped like eager ensigns to match the little boy’s stance. 

“Now come in, everyone – Melissa let Charles take your bag, you all have your usual rooms, and I’ll thank you to remember muddy boots are to be left inside the porch, not dragged all over my wooden floors.”

“Yes, Daddy,” his three grown-up children sang. Still clinging to the Englishman’s neck, Madeleine Reed Tucker kicked her little legs, noisily kissing his angular face. 

“Es, Daddy!” she squealed.

“Good girl.” The most fearsome man in the fleet handed her over to his spouse with a tender smile. “You’ll have to bear with us, Sarah; every time the family comes home I feel I have to restate the _house rules_. Trip, if you’ve left that blasted shed open again with the little ones about…”

“Relax, Mal, it’s locked. Charlie, Jamie, take the bags upstairs, I wanna show the kids what we got in the back garden.”

“Poppa! “ Having sauntered into the open-plan sitting room ahead of her parents Melissa turned with thin lips puckered up into a forbidding scowl. “We were _never_ allowed that when we were little, and I _always_ wanted one!”

“Your Daddy wouldn’t let me, honey, you know that.” Proudly Trip drew the curtains wide to frame a giant animatronic reindeer impatiently pawing the square back lawn, a large red bulb flashing at his nose. “What d’ you think of that, Quin - Maddie? We got Rudolph all ready, just waitin’ for Santa’s call!”

“Wudolf!” Malcolm wasn’t alone in wincing at his granddaughter’s delighted shriek. Both children hammered the window joyfully, sticky finger marks marring the polished glass. The reindeer’s head twitched. 

“How does it _do_ that?” Sarah whispered.

Trip winked, unfolding his hand to reveal a small control unit. “It’s what I was workin’ on when you arrived,” he replied, taking advantage of the children’s overexcitement to cover the confession. “I can’t make him fly yet, but I’m workin’ on it.”

“Not now we’ve guests, you’re not.” With his infant grandchildren preoccupied by the monstrosity marring his lawn, Malcolm risked stretching up to peck his husband’s chin. “All right, Quin, you can go out and stroke him if you must, but remember, he’s not real. And don’t go through the flowerbe – oh, never mind.”

“Sorry, Dad.” Following his slighter, dark-haired brother into the room with head on one side and palms already raised, CT4 was his namesake’s image but for eyes the same stormy grey as his British parent’s. “I’ll fix it up in the morning.”

“The kids’ll help.” His wife appeared less perturbed by their offspring’s faux-pas. “That’s the worst of living on the compound – no mud pies. I thought Dad refused to let you have those _ghastly pieces of gaudy tat_ in your garden, Poppa?”

“He always did when we were kids,” Jamie muttered.

“You didn’t just want the full-sized animatronics – you wanted the all-singing, all-dancing flashing holographic sleigh team,” Malcolm objected. “Oh, _look_ at Maddie, she’s trying to feed it grass! Trip, where’s the camera?”

“I’m on it.” The compact device was never far from Trip’s hand and before the toddler could get bored he snapped three sweet shots. “Kettle’s boilin’ by the way – who wants what?”

“I’ll see to it, Pop.” Melissa swept the men of her family away from the windows with a wave of the hand. “Sorry Sarah, will you have tea or coffee? When my brothers start shouting, it’s hard to hear anything else.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” From the corner of his eye Trip saw his husband nod approval of the ever-so-proper response. “Would you like some help…”

“Dad’s itching to interrogate me in peace, but thanks all the same.” The younger woman’s ivory complexion blanched at the bluntness but everyone else, including the formidable Admiral Reed, laughed. “Come on, Daddy, let’s get it over with. You want to know why I ended it with _that nice chap from Admin_ , yes?”

“I was _going_ to ask discreetly, when everyone else was preoccupied, but…. yes. Good boy, Quin, drop your shoes on the patio and Grandpa will fetch them after.”

“Wudolf hungwy!”

“No, Maddie, he’s made of plastic an’ metal. He doesn’t eat.”

Reasoned argument, Reed mused. In his experience even adult Tuckers were seldom persuaded by it. The toddler stamped her socked foot and howled, and under cover of every other grown-up in the house trying to pacify his indignant granddaughter Malcolm ushered his middle child out of the way.

“Poor Sarah; I don’t think she knows what to make of us,” he murmured, skipping aside to allow Melissa into the kitchen ahead. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Very much, and no: I don’t think it’s just the accent.” Two dark heads, one glinting with silver threads where the light struck, cocked to the starboard side. “I think she’s _it_ for Jamie; the thing Paul couldn’t be for me.”

“I _am_ sorry, love.” Deftly, without the need for words, they gathered up cutlery and crockery, smiling at each other as their hands brushed. “But if you’re certain it’s for the best…”

“Paul’s a good man, and it was – nice.”

“Ah.” No more was needed. “That bad, eh?”

“He’s happy shuffling papers in the admin block. Nine to five. I want more, Daddy. You and Poppa – you challenge each other.”

“That’s one way of describing it. Bashing heads is another.”

“And you love it.” The point was – unusually, he conceded, for a Reed – irrefutable. Crossing her arms, Melissa fixed her father with a knowing half-smile. “Charlie’s found it with Tina. She’s even agreed to sign the whole family onto one of those generational vessels for long-range missions, and who’d have thought _that_ when they first met? I know you don’t approve – space isn’t a children’s playground – but I’d love to do something like that.”

“I’m hardly in a position to argue, given my history.”

Thin lips quirked into a sweet smile. “That won’t stop Poppa when he hears what I’ve done.”

“Missa-Liss.” The infant nickname still came so easily, Reed reflected as he regarded the composed, competent woman his baby girl had become. “We both know you better than you give us credit for. The day you joined Starfleet Medical we knew you’d sign on for active service at some point. If it’s what you want, we want it for you. You know that.”

“Your Daddy’s right, sweetheart.” Pushing himself off the doorframe, Trip strolled across the room to sweep husband and daughter into the same enormous hug. “And whichever cap’n gets you better realise how lucky he is. You a damn fine doctor, just like Phlox always said you’d be.”

“I miss him too, Poppa.” Burrowing between her parents like she had as a small girl Melissa drew the mingled scents of them, sandalwood and citrus, into her lungs. “I’m shipping out on Intrepid – Captain Lomax – next month.”

“Lomax? The Scot? He’s a decent man; ex tactical officer, if I recall.”

“I’ll just bet you do. We’re gonna miss you, baby.”

“Charlie and Jamie are both away most of the time.”

“And we miss them, too.” Reluctantly Malcolm eased himself free, not quite nimble enough in turning away any more for them to miss the giveaway sheen of moisture in his eyes. “Now, pass the sugar bowl, somebody. We’ll have Charlie blundering in demanding to know what’s delaying coffee if we don’t look sharp. You’ll wait until after dinner to tell the boys, of course?”

The command wrapped up in a genteel suggestion. Admiral Tucker knew it worked on subordinate officers; he was just relieved to see it worked on progeny as well as it did on spouses.

“Of course.” Visibly relieved the worst was over Dr Melissa Reed-Tucker scooped up the large silver tea tray and set off toward the lounge, leaving her parents to gaze at each other for a long, silent moment.

“She’s grown up too fast,” said Admiral Tucker.

“They all have,” agreed Admiral Reed. “Bugger!”

“We still got ‘em all for Christmas – an’ Sarah too.” Determinedly optimistic, Trip gave his partner a squeeze. “Guess we’d better make the most of it! Quin – Maddie – you want milk or lemonade in there?”

*

“You okay, Sarah?”

“Fine.” Turning from the dressing table, her ebony hairbrush dropping from her hand, Sarah Robertson favoured her boyfriend of six months with a radiant smile. “I don’t _think_ they’ve taken an instant dislike to me.”

“Poppa and Dad? How could they?” Tying the belt of his robe Jamie moved up to wrap his arms around her waist, subtly angling them toward the open window. “You mind if I close that? Pop has a thing about getting fresh air into the house.”

“They’re not at all what I imagined,” she commented thoughtfully, allowing herself to be shuffled between the closed drapes until they fell around the couple like velvet capes. Jamie laughed.

“Dad’s reputation comes in handy for some things,” he admitted. “Like keeping the schoolyard bullies away.”

“And scaring unwanted admirers halfway across the quadrant?”

“More or less. But he’s a pussycat really.”

“He’s keeping his claws sheathed at the moment; I suppose I should be grateful for that! He’s extremely charming – and your Poppa’s delightful.”

The arms around her waist tightened. “Do I want to know what you were expecting _Admiral Tucker_ to be like?”

The words tickled her ear and with a shake of the head Sarah shifted her cascading length of hair, letting her lover’s lips touch her cheek. “Loud, brash, subtle as a clout with a house brick mean anything to you?”

“Dad’s used the adjectives a couple of times, yes.” Completely unoffended, Jamie nuzzled her neck. “About as many time as Pop’s thrown tightassed, superior and toffee-nosed back his way.”

“ _Toffee-nosed?_ He’s gone native, that’s as British as you can get!”

“The first thing he said when I told him about you – _git used t’ the insults, boy, ‘cause they’ll keep on comin’ an’ you’ll need a UT t’ understand ‘em!_ If I didn’t know they idolise each other…”

“Tina told me they’re romance personified. I didn’t understand until…”

“It’s okay.” Still, he drew the window shut with extreme care as two unmistakable silhouettes loomed out of the shadows cast by the house. Arm in arm, Admirals Tucker and Reed seemed to glide across their lawn, pausing to consider the petrified form of the reindeer which dominated it. “Just don’t make any sudden moves.”

The smaller figure swayed back, face upturned. The taller stooped until their lips could connect for a tender moment. Sarah’s hands came up as if they could catch the quick breath escaping her throat.

“I feel as if I’m spying on them,” she murmured, never taking her eyes off the older couple as they moved inexorably into an embrace. Her boyfriend’s chuckle warmed her cheek.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Dad already knows we’re here.”

Injunctions forgotten she spun in his hold, making the curtains swish and part. “How…”

“I don’t know, but if he objected, he’d have moved on. Dad’s omniscient. Knows everything, sees everything. It’s the first lesson I learned as a kid.”

“Must’ve made being naughty a challenge.”

Jamie contrived a theatrical shudder. “You have no idea. Once Charlie snuck up behind him in the study because Uncle Jon – all right, _Planetary President Archer_ if you insist – had told him Daddy had eyes in the back of his head. He might as well have! They look good together, don’t they?”

Captivated in spite of herself, she nodded, turning back to admire the lovers below. “I can see now why Melissa dropped Paul,” she marvelled. “They never had that _spark_.”

The arms around her clenched reflexively. “We’ve all got pretty high standards when it comes to relationships,” Jamie admitted, low and gravelled. “And down there’s the reason why.”

Malcolm Reed drew back from his husband’s loving embrace to smile dreamily at the larger man. “You know we’re being watched, of course.”

“Of course.” The very speed of the response betrayed him, and Trip knew it. “Whatcha mean, darlin’?”

“A shaft of light off the starboard bow, Admiral Tucker. Jamie’s room, if I’m not much mistaken. No, don’t turn and gawp – you’ll embarrass that poor girl.”

“If she’s gettin’ her kicks from watchin’ a pair of fogies makin’ out she deserves to be embarrassed.” The metallic beast at their side cast a monstrous shadow but even from its depths the glint of white teeth in a big, happy smile still flashed clear. “You wanna give ‘em a show?”

“Initiation rituals,” Malcolm agreed lazily, bringing up one hand to Trip’s nape while the other lingered on his husband’s still-shapely bum. “Merry Christmas and happy anniversary, my darling.”

By the time they broke apart, breathing heavily, the amber sliver across the ground had gone. “Take the celebration to bed?” Admiral Tucker suggested huskily. 

For all the years that had gone by, Admiral Reed could move as fast as that spry young lieutenant back on Enterprise in a good cause. Chortling, the Southerner allowed himself to be pulled along in the smaller man’s wake past the doors of his children and grandchildren, up to the attic suite to share one more Christmas celebration.


End file.
